Bump
by Ed's Tomato
Summary: It complicates life. It changes everything. Toad and Meltdown AU.
1. Before Bump

_A/N: Oh I am bad and terrible. Starting a new one when there are all those still waiting to be updated. Alas, gentle reader, I had failed thee. But, them's the breaks. Hope you enjoy this new thingy anyhow. Tabs and Toad, because that's what I write about lately. More lighthearted than Dysfunction or I'd be updating that'n. Beware the adult situations and potty words. Cover your delicate sensibilities!_ _Nothing much happens in this chapter but some shagging and the none-to-subtle foreshadowing. Bum Bum BUM._

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**Bump**

_**Chapter One: Before Bump**_

Darkness brings out the weirdos.

I should know. You don't get weirder than us. You wouldn't know it to look at me. I'm 5'6", Blonde and Blue eyed, phenomenal tits if I do say so myself. Pretty as a porn star, Toad likes to say. I wouldn't tell it so crudely, but he's not far off. Anyway, it's not me you'd see in that dark alley and turn around and run for, but my business associates. Teammates.

Take Toad. He towers 5'6 1/2" above me and doesn't let me forget that half inch. Not that that's the scary bit. He's built like a brick house, if a brick house was made out of foot after foot of sexy green muscle. That's right, he's green, like a Toad, get it? Not to mention he sports the warts, weird gold eyes and fifteen foot prehensile tongue. I love that tongue, but that's another story.

Then there's Vic, as in Victor Creed. Sabretooth. Toad might look creepy to the unappreciative eye, but Sabretooth is downright terrifying. He's a killer, through and through: a good 7'something", claws, fangs, bad personality and a penchant for committing those sorts of felonies that the regular criminal element looks down on in disapproval.

Then there's Mystique, who absolutely will not go by Raven Darkholme despite the fact that Toad claims it's her real name. I'm not even supposed to know. She might kick my ass for even thinking about it. She's blue, this real pretty cobalt shade, scaled and deadly. Oh, and naked. Like, all the time. She shapeshifts, so wearing clothes kinda doesn't work.

So then there's Magneto, who needs no introduction. Master of Magnetism. He of the Grey Hair and SERIOUS disposition. The Ultimate Bossman.

So, we're a scary bunch. The scariest you'll likely meet in a dark alley, especially Vic. I cannot stress that enough. You see Vic coming, you run. 'Course, by then it's too late.

But the darkness comes in later.

"What's on the tube?"

"Nuthin," Toad takes a little bit of warming up sometimes to get chatty. At least, with me.

"So why're you watching it?"

His gaze slowly focuses on me from the corner of his eyes, "Because I don't have any work t'do."

"We could be doing something more fun," I suggest cheerfully, plopping down in his lap.

He groans like it's an inconvenience, that old ridiculous thing, but I know he likes it. I'm adorable. He takes his sweet time putting his arms around my waist and leaning in to breathe me. I giggle. That's me, a giggler, everyone thinks I'm the joke of the team for it, but I don't care.

Then he leans in and nibbles at my earlobe, hands sliding up beneath the fabric of my shirt.

"Tabby, Tabby, Tabby, why d'you always smell good enough to eat?"

Now if Vic had said that, I'd be running. He'd mean it.

"New perfume, you like? It's supposed to make me smell like chocolate."

"Yeah, I like it," He growls at me, licking at my neck and shoulders, with one obvious thing on his mind.

Okay, let me say this first and foremost. I am NOT the village bicycle. I am not the team's turbo slut. That's not to say that Toad and I (Mort Toynbee to those who know him intimately, and I do) are exclusive or anything. This isn't really a settle down and steady dates kinda life. Not that I'd be adverse if he felt like asking (but don't you tell him I said so).

"What're you up to?"

"Wanna fuck." Oh would you listen to that? Such a sweet talker. Really. What a Neanderthal. Vic's rubbed off, even though they don't get along, like, at all.

"Yeah?" I breathe out, shivering a little.

"Oh yeah. I'm gonna fill that tight," He nibbled an earlobe, "wet," another love bite, "little cunt, all up."

I happen to like dirty talk, so we work out. He's a big, mean, sexy thing, and I like it when he tells me what he's going to do. I squeal and turn to plant my mouth on his. He's got bad teeth, like too much gum and kinda green stubby little teeth, but he's still a phenomenal kisser. Maybe it's that tongue or because he's such a passionate guy in general, who knows? Point is I could kiss this boy all day long.

He's a bad boy too. And everyone knows that pretty girls like bad boys.

And bad boys, do bad BAD things. He peels off my clothes and his, right there on the sofa. He doesn't give a damn who walks in, and that gives me SUCH a thrill. I like thrills. Bad boys, good kissers and thrills.

He won't wear a rubber. Never does. Says it's my responsibility to deal with birth control and then slaps me on the ass. Can you say asshole? Why do we always fall for them, hmm?

So he picks me up and drops me down on his cock (good size, not huge but overstretching average, and as green as the rest of him and uncut). He jerks up against me, and even though I'm on top, he's in control. He is always in control.

And I call him Daddy.

He's always less of a dick after, his arms wrap around me in a protective embrace and he tucks me in under his chin.

"Was it good for you, baby?"

"S'always good with you, Daddy."

"Tha's my girl."

It feels good when he calls me his. Maybe it makes me a sap, probably even. And those femnazis would probably shoot me dead. Me, a terrorist and a terror in my own right. Strong and powerful and just happy to be consumed by a man. Yeah well, people shouldn't judge.

Alright so after the fuckfest in the living room (Mags walked through the room during, by the way, and lemme tell you that takes getting used to) there was a snack and then we were talking, which isn't something we usually do. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love it.

"What're you doin' this weekend, sweetheart?" He brushes the hair out of my eyes and smiles.

"Dunno, hanging out with you, I guess."

"You like that? Hanging out with me?"

I give him a weird look, cuz what kind of question is that? Seriously? I freaking worship him.

"Well?"

"Yeah, Mort, course I do."

"Course you do," He agrees needlessly, and looks oddly pensive. I really can't read him most times. I mean, there's super angry murderous Toad, and there's oh shit Tabs you're in trouble this time Toad, and then there's horny Toad. (..heh...Horny Toad. Now that's funny) but other than that, who knows what the guy is thinking. "Well," He breaks out of his reverie, "We'll hang out tonight then."

Some big bad assassin. Maybe he really IS crazy. A kiss on the cheek and a slap on my ass and I'm gone. Off to plan my outfit for hanging out, and to check if I've remembered my birth control today (hadn't, oops), and to blush profusely (word of the day calendar, don't knock it) when I passed Mags in the hallway. Seriously, it's like having your Grandad watch you...if your Grandad is like a mutant terrorist leader and stuff.

Red heels or gold heels? Mort wouldn't care, of course, but that's not the point. It's not like he ever asks me out or anything, so I wanted to look phenomenal. I've low self esteem or something, so sue me. I start to worry what exactly asking me to hang out entailed to him. If it meant watching soccer (He calls it football, Whatever) and drinking beer, I was gonna be sorely disappointed. It's not like I don't like sports. I like them fine, and drinking beer. Okay so I like the guys in their outfits (I call them that to piss off Toad), and I like to yell at the TV and belch and be genuinely unladylike and feel comfortable with my surrogate fam. But that's not a date. Seriously, not.

Champagne mini-halter dress won out, and that meant the red heels. Bare back, and my back looks good. Hair ended up kinda messy but in that sex kitten way, dark eye makeup and shit where did the time go?

"Tabs? Were we doin' something?" He pokes his head in the door and his eyes widen and he goes speechless. Now THAT is the reaction I like from a man, but y'know, then he ruins it, "What's that for?"

I try to shrug it off and roll my eyes and push past him into the hallway.

"If you don't like it.."

"I like it y'manipulative little minx," He grabs for my hips and pulls me back against him, biting my neck harder than necessary.

I start to protest, because it actually hurts, but who doesn't like a little pain? One of his hands goes flat on my belly and holds me flush, ass to crotch, back to chest.

"You trying to get me all excited?" He whispers huskily, lips against my ear. That finally snaps me out of it enough to try to pull away.

"No," I swat at him, "Sheesh, not yet! God, I didn't get all dressed up just for you to strip me two seconds later."

His turn to roll his eyes.


	2. Bump

_A/N: This is shorter than I'd like (my mantra, I know, I know) but I wanted to put up what I had and it's a good stopping note I think. _

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**Chapter 2: Bump**

It's the details I'm real bad about overlooking. When I get all excited about a mission it's not unusual for me to forget to put on my Kevlar. I know! Toad lays into me real good about that. He's always like, "Do you've a death wish, woman?" I don't! Really! Mostly, anyways.

Taking one silly little pill a day doesn't seem like such a big deal, but oh boy oh boy it is. One stupid little pill and then one really good romp gets you....you guessed it: the bump.

Considering how easy it is for me to overlook the details, it took me quite awhile to notice. I didn't have the usual symptoms. I wasn't hurling over the toilet every five seconds, and I didn't crave pickles and ice cream. I had cramps, but then y'know, that's not so unusual. My breasts were a little sensitive, but then, they are a lot of the time anyway. The main thing that usually tips people off is missing their period, but hey, I'm active! I don't have one a lot of the time anyway! So, it's real easy for me to lose track of that kind of thing, and I didn't realize for a long...long time. Too long.

Toad noticed before I did, but he didn't know it. "Y'lookin chunky, Tabs, have I been going soft on you?" Ha ha. No really, hil-fucking-arious. No, Mortster, I think that it's because of how _hard _you've been.

For the first time I realized I was more than a little bloated. I stood in the nude, staring into the mirror and I saw it. My belly was round. There was a fucking bump. And bump means baby, and Toad had knocked me up.

I was quick to get dressed again and in something looser than I usually wore. For being a little bit of a slut, hey I can be honest, I was, I'd never had an abortion before. I'd always been careful and gotten lucky, so I'd never had to face that particular decision. And, y'know, just because I kill people on a daily basis, doesn't mean this was an easy one for me.

Turns out it was made for me. By the time I worked up the courage to sneak off the island and go for the doctor, three weeks later, I was in my third trimester and it was too late. I'm really not sure if I felt relieved or like I wanted to hurl. Oh, THERE'S the morning sickness. Now, people don't think this can happen. Don't think you can be so unaware of your own body that you can miss a pregnancy for that long. But I'm here to tell you. You can.

Toad's oblivious about a lot of regular stuff. Y'know, like feelings. He is not, however, an unobservant guy.

"You have stacked a few on," He calls to me from the sofa when I come in from my doctor's appointment in loose jeans and a grey sweatshirt. "Go run laps or somethin'."

"Oh uhm... in a minute," I mutter back and head toward him. I gotta tell him. It's not like there's much time before he winds up a Daddy. He lifts an eyebrow at me, for putting him off, but doesn't say anything as I flop down beside him. "I was at the doctor."

"...And? Y'got cancer or somethin'?"

"Uhm...no." I can't seem to spit it out and I can see from his expression he's getting sick of this game.

"Well? What then?"

"I'm pregnant."

There are no words between us as he stares at me, waiting for the punchline. I see all the different emotions flitter across his face. The shock becomes disgust, maybe he thinks it's someone else's. Then the disgust gives way to fear and as soon as fear registers it becomes anger.

"Get rid of it." His fingers are digging into the sofa cushions rather than my skin and when I speak I don't recognize my voice.

"I can't. M'too far along."

"You....you what?" His tone is scathing and deadly dangerous.

"I didn't know!" Because I can already hear that condemnation in his voice (word of the day calender strikes again!) like he thinks I held off telling him or something. I am NOT that kind of girl.

"I don't care how fuckin far along you are, you get rid of it," And he's moving toward me like a big black shadow of evil intention. I know with all certainty that he's considering ripping it out of me with his bare hands and to hell with how dead it left me. It's terrifying.

So I do the only thing I can when death comes barreling at you. I scramble back and protest.

"I can't! I can't, Mort! I'm sorry!" Why the girl has to apologize is beyond me, but I'm used to it. Seems like I'm always begging and screaming for something.

He grabs my arm and squeezes hard. So hard it hurts and he's looking into me like he's peeling back the layers of my flesh to see what's beneath. After what seems like an eternity, where the bruises lift on my skin and he makes me new ones, he finally softens.

"Don't suppose it was all your fault." Gee, isn't he kind? I mean, REALLY, he's so good to me. He lets go of my arm and rubs at the new bruises absently as he looked me over. "You're not huge."

"Yeah, the doctor said sometimes people aren't. I thought I was like gassy or something, needed to eat less cheese."

He reaches to push my sweatshirt up and run his hands over my belly. There's an almost hungry expression on his face for a moment that gives me pause. For the first time it strikes me that maybe he wants it. That beneath all the anger and violence and dominance, maybe he wants a family.

"When's it coming?"

"Two and a half months, he said."

"Well then. We've some things t'discuss."


	3. The Bump Grows

_A/N A longer Chapter this time, but we didn't go the way I'd intended. The fluffies have attacked and are sprinkling sunshine and rainbows all over this story. RUN STORY! DO NOT LET THEM GET YOU!! It'll get more volatile once the baby comes, they're just having some self deluding moments to stave off the panic. Toad! Behave yourself and stop running one direction or the other. Maintain your middle ground, Damnitt!_

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**Chapter 3: The Bump Grows**

Truer words were never spoken. Well, maybe there were truer words. I dunno, I'm not all that literary, but anyway, we did. Have things to discuss, that is.

There's the fun things like naming it, awwwww. And would we rather have a boy or a girl? Toad says neither, he is SO helpful. And then there's the unfun stuff to discuss. Like...how th'fuck are we going to raise a kid? (orphanage is really out. Toad just alludes to his time there but it's not the happy memories). And how are we gonna tell Magneto? And...and...damn.

It's only been a month but he's coming around. He gets a real kick out of teasing me about being fat and about being knocked up by him. I kinda think it's a pride thing. Like, ooh lookit how manly I am. Make woman with child. Make fire. Grunt Grunt.

He's sitting behind me on the sofa with his arms around me and hands on the bump which has grown considerably since we found out about it. What, was the baby sucking in? Geesh. He touches it all the time now. Very possessive. I'm not gonna lie, I think I like it.

"What'f it's green?" This is a major worry of his. More so than, hey what'll we do if it's got asthma or if it's allergic to peanuts or is like a screaming colicky thing. No, he only worries about it being green.

"Throw it back, Mort, what'd you think?"

"It better not be green."

"Oh okay Mort I'll threaten it in the womb, you hear that baby? If you're green you'd better turn some other color. We don't take no green babies."

"Bloody hilarious," He starts to rub circles over the bump which feels pretty good. At least he's been nice about rubbing out my aches and pains.

"I thought so. You think of any more names?"

"Not Vic."

"Yeah, yeah I know. Thanks, really helpful. Seriously, you think of anything?"

"Rambo."

"No."

"Predator."

"Uh, no you can't name a kid Predator? Are you kidding? You're just naming movies!"

"Well you got anything?"

"Samantha? Lillian?"

"Bleh. You got anything that isn't flowery?"

"Well...I did think of one thing for a boy that I thought you might like. Gunner?"

He muses on this for a moment before nodding, "I like it."

"Alright cool, now for a girl?"

"Let's just not have one."

"Right, okay...not green and not a girl. If you're a girl you'd better grow a penis, baby."

He laughs and rubs at my shoulders affectionately, "Pistol."

"You're such a violent man."

A kiss on my cheek and he makes a sound of agreement. I know we're both scared. Well, I know I'm scared and he's freaked, but it equates to the same thing.

"We can't call her that, her nickname would be Piss."

He grunts in agreement, "Good point. We'll keep thinkin' then."

He's been doing Internet research. Gotta deliver it here. I had to wear a disguise just to go to the Doc in the first place to find out about our impending bundle. If we tried to have it in a hospital or birthing center or whatever I'd be like wide open to attack, and the baby too. So, Mort's gonna deliver. Color me excited, seriously. That means no epidural. I'm Brotherhood, I should be used to pain, but it's not like I wanna sign up for it.

I dunno what we're gonna do when the baby comes. He's got shit patience and me too, and neither of us knows anything about kids. My childhood was not peachy. My dad was abusive in like all the worst ways, and so far as I know Mort had it worse. We've got the internet and books and y'know...our best guesses (which I'm sure will be wrong). The baby's gonna be lucky to last a year. Don't think I sound callous about it, I mean I'm sure I'd be a wreck if something happened to it, but right now it still doesn't really feel real. I can't imagine being anything's mom. Not even like a dog's.

Toad's real worried. We told Magneto two weeks ago and he took it okay. I mean, neither of us wants to quit the Brotherhood (we'd be broke and have to live in a cave or something), so it wasn't like this branded us traitors. We're just bringing another mutant into the world, which isn't terrible. I haven't been on active duty for awhile and he said I won't until I stop breastfeeding. (Can you imagine? EW!) One of us'll have to be home to babysit it (and that won't always be me) until it gets big, and we can't take the chances or indulge our deathwishes. It's just such a big deal. I comfort myself with the thought that, hey the biggest trailer trash have managed it since we were all cave people right? If they can do it, how hard can it be?

The sun starts to set outside and I attempt to untangle myself from sofa and Mort to go for a waddle (and I had such the hottest ass before). He gets up to join me, hands shoved in his pockets as we go out onto the beach and I sigh and relish the feel of sand between my toes. It's not like we're big on the Deep Conversation, but fuck, now or never, right?

"I dunno if I can do this."

"You're a strong gel, Tabitha." I glance at him in some surprise because usually he tells me I'm useless or a trollop or something.

"I'm not exactly the most mature person ever," It's not like I like to admit it, but brutal honesty time. "And I'm insecure and y'know...slutty."

He laughs and reaches to take my hand. Calloused and work hardened fingers lace with mine.

"Y'can stop being slutty, pet, I know you can."

I shrug, and sure I can, but where's the fun in that? I guess Toad and I'll end up sorta exclusive. Which, like I said before, will suit me fine if that's what he wants. Really wants. Oh insecurity you dirty bastard. I'm always gonna wonder if he wants to be with me or if it's about the baby. Guess I should clear the air.

"How d'you feel about me?" I am the quintessential girl, trapping questions and all the rest of the bad stereotypes. I still gotta know.

He raises an eyebrow at me and reaches up to run his knuckles over my cheek, stopping us.

"Think y'fat with my baby," He tries to joke but then softens at my expression, I guess. "What're you asking me, Tabby?"

Shrugging, I look down and feel stupid for saying anything, but this is like our fucked up little family so I guess I gotta.

"I dunno...I mean are we just like always gonna resent each other and shit? Are you always gonna be like, oh shit I can't go out cuz I'm like tied down to Tabby cuz of the kid, or something?"

He chuckles again and chucks my chin, "M'pleased as punch t'be saddled to you sweetheart. Nobody else'd have me."

He gets a wry smirk for that, because gee thanks. There's a glowing review. But at least he means it. Means he won't wanna stray, and won't resent me, or at least he thinks he means it now. I lean forward to give him an awkward kiss, which we haven't shared since he found out about the baby bump.

We end up making love on the beach. C'mon I know how ridiculous that sounds. Deliver me from cheesy Lifetime movies, but seriously! It's not like we said it or anything, especially not him, but he was gentle and kissed me the whole time. A totally different experience from his usual bend and fuck or reverse cowgirl. He's probably just worried about hurting the baby, but that in itself is pretty damned sweet.

When we're done he braces himself over me on an elbow and knee (higher than usual because of the bump) and stares down at me. I can't read his expression again. One of those things are going through his head that I just can't fathom. Murder? Afterglow? Does he have gas?

"I know it ain't y'fault, Tabby. I don't resent you. I could be worse off getting stuck with a pretty sweet girl who likes t'kiss me." And God Damn I think he means it. I grin despite myself.

"You want this family?"

"Yeah. Yeah I want it. Want you, want this," He places his hand on my belly, "Don't think I deserve it and I'm likely t'fuck it up, but yeah. I want it."

"Me too. I want to belong, Daddy."

"You do. Belong with me. Thought y'knew that."

"I knew you liked to fuck me," He nods at that, "And we have fun hanging out sometimes," Another nod. "But I dunno...thought that was it."

"Don't be sodding stupid, y'family. An more'n that... Y'been my subordinate since y'signed up, my responsibility. Y'been a headache, but that don't mean I'm not crazy about you. Woulda killed you by now otherwise."

I laugh and let him make me his again, and call him Daddy because he's about to be one in earnest. It's a crazy world. You and me baby ain't nothin' but mammals, but maybe next time let's use a rubber?


	4. Baby

**Chapter Four: Baby**

Labor _hurts_.

Oh I know, you've seen all the movies and shit. Diane Keaton and her 'daughter' all made up and cheeks puffed out going "Aaaah!"

No.

Bull_SHIT_.

The Bullshittiest.

Now, I'm a good looking girl, okay? I am. When I wear makeup I'm like a 12, when I'm not wearing any I'm easily an 8. During labor I'm a 2. And that 2 is because I'm vain. My hair is stringy with sweat. My skin's oily, pale and red all at once, face blotchy and dark circles under my eyes. It's not the baby coming out that kills. I mean, that kills too, but the contractions, that's the worst. You ever had really bad diarrhea? Like Iritable Bowel Syndrome Diarrhea, after you've eaten like a pound of cheese and six chili dogs? Where it feels like your insides are just all trying to cramp at once? It's like that. But worse.

Home birth means I can have the baby on the bed or in the tub, and I haven't decided yet. I flail for Mort beside me in bed when the second contraction hits and I'm fully awake. Aren't they supposed to get worse? I might not survive this. Mort's gone and I scream until the next contraction hits and I can't get my breath. My eyes are squeezed shut but I still see the light come on as the door slams open and I hear him come in. His hands are on my thighs and pulling them gently apart and I hear a rumble of voices but can't make out the words through the sound.

It passes and my eyes open to see Vic in the doorway and Toad scowling.

"Breathe," Vic suggests with a smirk and I suck in a desperate breath.

"Get th'hell outta here," Toad snaps at him as he reaches to put pillows behind my back and I scream again and everything is just pain. It bursts behind my eyes and I can't breathe again, hands out and clutching and I hear Vic.

"Something's wrong."

I become aware of things in waves. Vic is scooping me up to move me. Mort is running out of the room. Vic is saying something to me, but I can't understand him. We're in the bathroom and Mort is there, the tub water running. Toad is frowning. The water helps me think a little bit and hear what's going on. Mort's in the tub too, naked as I am and staring at my bottom half. It's a big tub, huge jacuzzi. I feel so weak, I can't figure out how I'm not drowning right now until I realize Vic is in the tub too. That sends shivers down my already pained spine. But without him I'd be sinking. My head falls back against that broad chest and his arms tighten around me, a hand reaching to slap at my cheek.

"Stay awake, girl. Stay awake."

"Stay th'fuck awake Tabby."

Eyes open, and it hurts so bad. I open my mouth to tell them, but only whimpers and chokes come out. Vic is supporting all my weight and I feel him lifting me so Toad can get at my down below a little easier.

"I see feet, baby's turned around," Mort says and I start to cry. This is it, this baby's gonna kill me. Gonna kill us both.

I can heart Vic's heartbeat and it's steady and I try to focus on that. There's nothing I can do anymore. Toad tells me not to push and I don't know if I'm listening or not. My body doesn't belong to me anymore and I can hear Vic shouting at me to wake up, but I'm going.

_Until Mort reaches inside me_.

I scream.

It's so funny how pain can be so bad it sends you into unconscious and then a swell of new pain can wake you right back up again. I can't seem to stop screaming and it's not like in the movies. Not like the angry barks at the husband and the comical swearing. I'm being ripped apart. I'd be flailing if I had use of my legs.

It's hours. Hours there in the tub. Everything is pruny and the water is so bloody and disgusting but both men are still there, still trying to bring me through this. Toad has been trying to turn the baby. Vic is holding me up and managing to help hold my legs apart. Hours. I stopped screaming because I just don't have the energy. It's all I can do to manage a breath every so often. There might still be tears falling but I don't have the energy to squint my eyes.

"We're losin her. Heartbeat's slowin down."

"Shit. C'mon Tabby, not much longer now. Hang on baby."

My head falls back against Vic again, and it's turned, cheek pressed against soft hair and hard muscle. My eyes are closed but it seems like I can see anyway. Mort's holding me and whispering something sweet. It's a sunny day, bright and warm. There's a big tree.

Someone's baby's crying.

"Jesus Christ, Jesus fuck...it's so small...she's so small."

It's cold. Air pricking at sensitive skin until Vic gathers me closer and drapes a towel over me. Since when is Vic nice? It's warmer. I think bed.

"What're you doin'? Get off her."

"I'm warming her up, Runt, she's freezin'."

Then I'm asleep and it might be over.

There's crying again.

"Tabby? Love? C'mon I need you wake up. Y'gotta feed her."

I don't seethe baby at first when I open my eyes. All I can see is Mort looking relieved. But then there she is. Tiny, with soft dark fuzz over her head and squished red features. She looks like an alien. I smile.

He moves her carefully into my arms and up to my breast. He read more about it than I did, he's a better student, but luckily she takes to it right away. I wouldn't have had the strength to struggle with her. It's a weird feeling to be fed from, but it's kinda neat too. I've been good since I found out, no smoking, no drinking. But there was a long time in between pregnant and aware of it that I wasn't so careful. I'm glad to see she looks alright.

Mort's beside me, arm around my back to help me prop up, eyes glued to the infant suckling from me. I feel like a cow. I can't believe she's real.

"How you feelin', pet?"

"Like I got hit my a bulldozer and had a watermelon tugged out my cooch," I admit, "But..better."

He nods at me and reaches out to palm the infants head carefully as she nurses. "Scared me for a minute."

"Did I almost die?"

"Yeah, almost."

"Vic was here?"

He grunts in agreement, "I couldn't do it all myself," He sounds as though he thinks that's a failing on his part.

"She's so small."

"Yeah she is, an pretty, like 'er Mum," He looks up at me, meeting my eyes, "Thank you."

I don't think I've ever been looked at that intensely. It's insane how surreal this is. Our child is nursing from my breast. If I hadn't just woken up I'd totally pass out. I blink away the tears that gather and clear my throat.

"You wanna switch on the tv and get me some water?"

He goes without protest which just goes to show that men can change. Nine months ago he would've kicked my ass for asking him to wait on me. My Fair Lady is on and I settle back with a sigh of relief and shift the baby to the other breast when it seems like she's finished with the one she's on. He comes back with my water and settles down again and I can't get over how much like a father he's acting. A real father.

"What about Eliza?" I suggest softly, studying her.

"Liza f'short?" He smiles, looking pleased.

And I start to cry suddenly, because I've named my child. I'm someone's mother. Mort holds me, and I do belong.


End file.
